


A Chicken With Too Many Feathers Is a Sorry Chicken Indeed (Better to Make Dinner With)

by ester_inc



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Hobbits Are Gossips, M/M, Original Character(s), POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2797190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ester_inc/pseuds/ester_inc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins of Bag End has taken up with a Dwarf. It's quite, quite unseemly.</p><p>Or: Bilbo and Thorin meet years before meddling wizards, maps and dragons enter the picture, and eventually get along better than the good people of the Shire are comfortable with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Chicken With Too Many Feathers Is a Sorry Chicken Indeed (Better to Make Dinner With)

Bilbo Baggins of Bag End had taken up with a Dwarf. It was quite, quite unseemly. 

He had been such a respectable young Hobbit, too, as Bagginses tended to be. A bit odd around the edges, perhaps, if one caught him in a particular mood, or looked at him a moment too long on the sort of clear summer day when one might see beyond the borders of the Shire if one did not take care to focus on something closer to home. These minor faults, however, could not be placed solely on Bilbo's shoulders, and as he had grown up to be a rather pleasant and responsible Hobbit despite certain slightly unfortunate branches of his family tree, the good people of Hobbiton felt it was no bother to politely ignore those few occasions when he didn't seem to fit quite as comfortably among his fellow Hobbits as he should.

And now -- a Dwarf! 

"Well, I never," said Berylla Banks, for even if this whole business was quite dreadful and couldn't exactly be called news anymore, it was not _quite_ dreadful enough to deter anyone from conversing about it with friends and neighbors while enjoying afternoon tea.

In the beginning, two springs past, Bilbo's strange friendship with the Dwarven smith, who came and went like the weather, had been easy to overlook. For a long time, it hadn't even been a friendship -- they were acquainted and became more so as time passed. The Dwarf did have excellent wares for sale, which was to be expected, and so no one minded too much, though mind you, most everyone minded a little. This friendship business was another one of those odd edges that surfaced in Bilbo on occasion, only this one showed no signs of _un_ -surfacing, which truth be told, had started bothering the Shire-folk long before this latest, entirely inappropriate development. 

"I do not dare imagine what Mr. Baggins is thinking," said Berylla, vigorously stirring a spoonful of sugar into her tea. "A Dwarf! And such a frightful Dwarf he is. If Mr. Baggins insists on such an unsuitable match, could he not, at the very least, have chosen someone a little shorter and rounder? Why, his Dwarf looks like he's never heard of a second breakfast! And have you seen his nose?"

Everyone had, indeed, seen his nose.

"Dear me," said Prisca Grubb, a proper, gentle sort of Hobbit, who had just come of age, "but I'm almost glad his parents -- may their bones rest easy in the earth -- didn't live to see this."

"Now, that's a wee bit unfair," Ceredic Whitfoot mused, absently patting his pleasingly substantial gut. "If it weren't for his parents, the good Mr. Baggins might not be in such a dire situation. Even late Bungo, whom we all know was very reasonable, married a Took. Whereas Belladonna -- well, I suppose she couldn't help her roots any more than her son can."

"That Tookish blood," said Ceredic's wife, Gilly, and everyone at the table nodded knowingly.

"I do feel sorry for young Mr. Baggins," said Berylla in her usual brisk manner, which did not make her sound kindly to those who did not know her, but was read as such by those who did. "It is a pity indeed, and a shame, for he is rather comely. Still, it would not be too much to ask, surely, for him to suppress his more untoward tendencies."

"He could have taken with a Brandybuck," Prisca suggested, reaching for her second piece of honey cake. "Surely that would have been adventurous enough, and respectable besides."

"Adventurous," said Gilly with a hint of censure in her tone, "is something that should be avoided altogether, if possible. Traipsing across the river -- why, he could have easily chosen someone from Hobbiton or Bywater and avoided all such hassle."

"Well," Prisca said, somewhat tentative, "at least he has no need to go near Brandywine, seeing as his Dwarf always comes to him."

Gilly scoffed, as if she felt that at this point, any and all possibilities concerning Bilbo, whether true or imagined, were entirely too ridiculous for her to contemplate. She scoffed again for emphasis and snapped a flower-shaped ginger biscuit into half, dipping it into her milky tea before nibbling on it.

"Come now, dearheart," Ceredic coaxed her. "Don't let a bit of tea talk sour your mood."

"I am quite done with this whole topic," Gilly said. "Quite done, thank you very much. It's bad enough to see the two of them around town and to exchange cordial greetings, as if we haven't noticed the Dwarf has all but moved in with him. A Dwarf, living at Bag End!"

It was this more than anything else that offended the sensibilities of sensible Hobbits in the Shire. The friendship alone was odd, no two ways about it, but nothing to make a fuss about. Even a brief and very, very discreet dalliance could have been blamed on wild Tookish fairy blood, which Bilbo evidently had in abundance, and then resolutely overlooked. But it was as if Bilbo and his Dwarf had no shame at all, and no intention of keeping their dalliance brief and discreet. 

"It is bad form, I agree," Berylla began to say, only to be interrupted by Gilly, who despite her protests was not yet done with the topic.

"A Dwarf and a Hobbit," she muttered. "It is simply not done."

"Yes," said Prisca, brushing crumbs off her fingers. "Although, I happened to share luncheon with May and her brother Bruno down the road the other day, and they seemed, that is to say --" She bit her lip and reached for her third piece of honey cake. At the prodding from the others, she continued, if a bit hesitant. "Well, Bruno at least seemed to think it also a bit romantic. Unseemly, of course," she hurried to add, not wishing to cast any doubt on Bruno Sandheaver's good character, "quite unseemly, but the Dwarf, sour-faced as he is, often wears a flower from Mr. Baggins on his breast; and Mr. Baggins has a brooch of Dwarven make that he always pins to his clothing. Bruno also said he's often seen the two of them, sitting side by side in The Hill gardens, smoking pipe-weed in the evenings."

"And that would be very well indeed," said Ceredic, "if they were both Dwarrows or Hobbits; a matching pair. By no means do I intend disrespect on Bruno Sandheaver, but his family hails from Bree, do they not?"

"I think they do, yes?" Prisca tried to distract herself and the others from the slight blush of embarrassment heating up her cheeks by stuffing what remained of her third honey cake into her mouth.

"They do have some funny ideas that far outside the Shire," Berylla said, patting Prisca's arm. "Crossing paths with Men, Elves and who knows what -- I don't doubt the Sandheavers mean well, but you should not take their words to heart, dear Prisca."

"Ah, but there's no need to feel embarrassed," Ceredic hurried to reassure in his part. "No need, no need. This is all rather peculiar -- I don't think I've ever heard the like of it -- but it will pass, one way or the other. If it's not chickens, it's feathers, my father always used to say. One storm passes and another emerges."

Prisca managed a small smile, already feeling better. "Indeed, with the way Mr. Baggins is behaving, the next thing you know he'll be off on an adventure!"

At her exclamation, the slightly dampened mood lifted and everyone laughed at her jest. The very idea! They poured more tea, encouraged each other to try all the different cakes, biscuits and pies on offer, and turned the conversation to topics that were easier on the digestion.

Still, throughout the shared afternoon, they occasionally broke into chuckles. An adventure, of all the miserable things! That would be the day, and never mind the Dwarf.

Needless to say, they were all entirely appalled and not amused in the least, a few years down the road, to find the good Mr. Baggins and his Dwarf disappeared and Bag End standing empty, with a sign on the door declaring for all to see: GONE ADVENTURING.

"Well," said Bruno Sandheaver, patting Prisca's hand where it rested in the crook of his elbow, his flower-gift tucked behind her ear, "I hope they'll have a good one."

Prisca gathered her wits and straightened her spine, nodding decisively. "They'll be back in time for supper, I'm sure."

Being a proper sort of Hobbit, she didn't know much about adventuring, and thus couldn't imagine it would take very long; she hoped they'd packed enough food for elevenses, luncheon, and tea. Adventures were a miserable affair, she'd always been told, but if there was pleasant company and proper food to be had, perhaps they could be endured.

She smoothed her skirts with her free hand and put her mind to other matters. It was soon time for elevenses, and after that she planned on making some honey cakes, which Bruno liked at least as much as she did.

It was a very good day to be a Hobbit.


End file.
